Another Day
by Siskin
Summary: Seventy-five years after the end of the war, Duo Maxwell is the last living Gundam pilot.


Another Day Requisite disclaimer: The Gundam Wing characters, names, and all that other stuff do not belong to me. Please don't sue me; I have bills to pay.Rating: T for mild to moderate language.

--

Another Day

--

Duo Maxwell peered into the mirror, fluffed his bangs with a flick of his fingers, and then grinned at himself. "Yep…gorgeous as always."

He straightened his shoulders with an effort and adjusted the crisp dark shirt and tie he was wearing, still looking in the mirror. The reflection was changed—oh, was it ever changed—but he'd certainly had plenty of time to get used to it. The hair, once chestnut, had long since gone silver. He counted himself lucky that he'd lost none of it to the years, and it still hung in a wrist-thick braid down his back. His face was lined, but his eyes were still good, though they had faded to a paler blue than they once had been.

He rolled his shoulders forward and back determinedly. His joints gave a token twinge of protest and then let the matter drop. It was mostly his damned back that bothered him, but he refused to give in to a slouch. He was about as fit and healthy as a ninety-one-year-old could expect to be, and certainly doing better than most.

An insistent little fist rapped on the door. "Grampa Duo! Are you ready?"

He chuckled, a rattle in his throat that, when he first got up, sounded more like a growl. At least his voice had decided to go gravelly instead of creaky. "Just about, cutie," he called back, tightening his belt a notch. The weight that he'd gained in his adulthood, he'd lost again in old age, and he couldn't seem to gain it back.

"Mama says we have to leave now! She says hurry up!" He heard the tap-tap of little dress shoes stomping on the floor. "She says she'll break down the door if you don't!"

Duo laughed and turned around, and opened the bathroom door. "We can't have that, can we, Relly? Your mama already broke a door this week. Your daddy'll have to give her a spanking if she does it again."

The little face that peered up at him out of a nearly waist-length curtain of blonde hair broke into a sunny smile. Little Relena was dressed in a very pale pink dress with puffy short sleeves, a fluffy gathered skirt, and the type of waistline that tapered to a point in front. She wore little clips in her hair with pink ribbon roses on them, and matching little rosebuds on the shiny little white patent Mary Janes. He thought she was ten times more adorable in the little overalls and red shirt he'd bought her for her fourth birthday. Unfortunately, her mother—Melanie, daughter of the late Relena Peacecraft—outdid even _her_ mother for prissiness. It took every ounce of Duo's charm to stay on Melanie's good side while sneaking around behind her back to bring up Little Relena as a devout tomboy.

He'd come to stay with them for a few nights to attend the banquet—it was just too far to the capital from his small house out in the boondocks for him to drive to Melanie's and back on the same day anymore. Melanie had insisted, and Duo had given in without much resistance. To him, the chance to see his goddaughter—and keep a foot firmly in the door as far as her upbringing was concerned—was well worth putting up with Melanie's fussiness.

Little Relena tugged on his hand. "C'mon, we gotta hurry!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He let the four-year-old haul him out of the guest bedroom and down the hall.

"Duo! –Oh, there you are. What on earth took you so long? We're barely going to make it as it is!" Melanie looked sternly up at the grinning, unremorseful man letting her daughter "help" him down the stairs. She wore a long dark dress with a high collar, and her dark hair was up in a severe bun that didn't really suit her—at least, not in Duo's opinion.

"They waited seventy-five years to do this, Melanie. They can damned well—"

"Duo!" she snapped.

"—darned well wait another few minutes," Duo amended smoothly, with a glance down at Little Relena. She didn't seem to have noticed his slip—she had given up on poky old Grampa Duo and skittered on down the steps, where she was performing an impromptu tap-dance on the landing. "Where's William?"

"He's already in the car." She strode forward to take Duo's elbow, but he dodged, ignoring the spike of pain in his spine. He'd be aching for that one later. Still, he grinned. "I'm coming, Mama!"

"Fine… have it your way. If you're not at the car in five minutes, we're going without you." Melanie threw up her hands and snatched her purse from the hall table. "Come along, Relena."

Little Relena allowed her mother to tote her along at a pace worthy of an Olympic athlete, but she looked back with a pout. Duo grinned and winked at her, bringing the smile back to her face, and started after them at his own speed. He knew they wouldn't leave without the evening's guest of honor.

--

The breeze carried the fragrance of rain, grass, wet soil, and flowers. Duo inhaled deeply and tried to ignore the stinging of his eyes as he stood at the end of the row of gravestones, watching the newest member of their ranks be set in place at the head of a mound of brand new sod. He forced a chuckle from his throat.

"_How about that," he murmured. "So I'm the last one. Never would have figured. Whatcha think about that, Wufei?" The workers walked away. The last mourners had gone already. Duo crossed to the new stone, standing at the foot of the small plot. _

"_Chang Wufei. AC 180 – AC 270," he read softly aloud. That was all the stone said. He pulled his jacket closer around him and adjusted his scarf—it was a chilly April morning. Spring was taking its time in coming. "Would've liked to talk to you again before you left us, but I guess you had your own life to live, eh?" _

_A worker in a gray coverall wandered past a couple of rows up, ignoring Duo. Didn't even glance over. Probably heard old nut cases talking to gravestones a hundred times a day. Duo chuckled, and straightened his shoulders. "Well, you got on with your life, and now I gotta." He saluted, and in spite of the jaunty smile on his lips, his vision watered, the words on the stone blurring. "Be at peace." _

--

The limousine pulled up to the hotel, and a crimson-coated doorman opened Duo's door. He was tempted to accept the hand offered him, but instead he took a firm grip on the top of the car door and levered himself up, then stepped out onto the pavement and straightened, trying to look dignified rather than stiff.

He flashed a grin at the waiting lines of the Rich and Snotty and waved, and was rewarded with a round of muted applause, with a few cheers dotted here and there. _Well, that's certainly better than hisses and boos and flying blunt objects. _

He started up the shallow, short flight of steps with a wince that he quickly disguised. His back twanged a bit more with each rise, but long before he was in any real trouble, the stairs were done and there was nothing but a gloriously flat expanse of marble between him and the hotel lobby doors. Melanie and William were on one side of him, and Little Relena scurried up to his other side and took his callused, bony hand. He looked down at her and winked.

Cameras flashed here and there, but Duo looked straight ahead, eyes forward, as they entered the crowded lobby. He hated camera flashes, but he'd put up with them as long as they didn't go off right in his face. The people parted as if in the wake of a ship as he passed through. There were very few faces that he recognized, but what else could he expect? He braced himself, put on a grin, and started hobnobbing. _Yep, this is gonna be a long, long night._

"Duo!"

Trapped in a tedious exchange of pleasantries with a reporter, Duo stopped midsentence and turned around. A towheaded figure was wending its way through the crowd, and a moment later, Duo caught his breath as a young man broke through the press of people, beaming at him. Wide and unguarded blue eyes sparkled merrily as he came forward and extended his hand. "It's good to see you again!"

Duo recovered quickly and grinned, shaking the youth's hand firmly. "Good to see you, too, Thomas," he muttered. "I was about to choke on my own sweetness there."

Thomas laughed. "They're going to start seating, if you're ready to come in."

Duo laughed. "Ready? I'm starving!"

"You wouldn't be if you'd eaten more than two bites at lunch," Melanie observed dryly. Somehow she'd managed to appear out of nowhere beside him.

Duo turned the grimace he wanted to make into an innocent "who, me?" expression. "I was just saving my appetite, Mel. They threw together this big fancy banquet in my honor, after all; it'd be rude not to make the most of it, right?"

He turned his attention back to Thomas. "Let's go on in before all the popularity smothers me," he stage-whispered behind his hand, ignoring Melanie's exasperation. Thomas laughed and led the way into the banquet hall.

It was cavernous and rectangular, with tables set up in several rows at an angle so that it was easier to turn and see the podium along one of the longer walls. Beside the podium was a longer table, where he, Thomas, William and Melanie, and some other notables would be seated. Little Relena had been turned over to her nanny and would sit at a table in the back with the other guests' children, to be herded out after dinner while the speeches were going on.

His attention was drawn to the back wall, centered behind the podium. Four framed pictures were hung there on the paneled wood, each with its own small spotlight. As they reached the table and William pulled out a chair for Melanie, Duo wandered toward the row of pictures, and stopped there, clasping his hands behind his back.

He became aware of someone standing beside him, but he said nothing. Instead, he closed his eyes. He didn't need to look at the pictures to know what he would see. He had provided them to Thomas himself for enlargement and framing, after all, and he had chosen each one with care.

Furthest to the left would be Quatre, a laugh on his lips, his eyes alight with merriment. He was in a flight suit, the wind blowing his blonde hair, waving at someone off-camera, standing at Sandrock's feet.

"What was he like?"

Duo opened his eyes, and turned his head. Thomas stood looking up at Quatre's picture, unconsciously imitating Duo's pose with his hands folded behind him. The resemblance between the young man and his great-uncle was enough to take Duo's breath away once in a while.

Duo smiled. "Cheerful. Caring. Determined. Always willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt." _Doesn't even begin to describe him. _"Braver than a lot of people ever gave him credit for."

--

"_You better have some _fine_ vintage waitin' for me for draggin' my bony old ass all the way out here in the middle of winter, Quatre!" Duo sat down in one of the chairs in the warm parlor, breathing a sigh of relief._

_Quatre laughed, a breathy, slightly wheezy sound. He was bundled up on the sofa, a half-dozen small bottles arranged on the small wooden folding table beside him, with a glass of water and a box of tissues as the centerpiece. "Rafael's looking for it now," he said. His voice was whispery rather than raspy, but Duo could hear the blockage deep in his chest, and felt a small wrench in his own. _

_But Duo smiled anyway. He had to smile. He reached out and took Quatre's hand. It was hot, and Quatre's thin fingers squeezed back. "So…what's the verdict?"_

"_Pneumonia," Quatre replied simply. _

"_Shit, again? What is this, the third time? Are you going for some kind of record?"_

_Quatre laughed again, which turned into a long fit of coughing and gasping. One of the staff hurried in—they probably listened behind the door for this—but Duo moved from his chair and balanced himself on the edge of the sofa, gently lifting Quatre up to prop him against his side so he could breathe._

_When the coughing died down, Duo reached for a tissue and gently wiped away the small spattering of mucus on Quatre's lips. Quatre's hand quested toward the table, and Duo quickly grasped the glass of water and brought it to his mouth._

_Quatre took a few swallows and then heaved a deep, rough sigh. Duo replaced the glass and smoothed Quatre's hair away from his eyes. Over fifty years it had faded slowly from blonde to palest gold to pure white, but his boyish face, like Duo's, had remained almost unlined. Quatre's blue eyes shone with fever, and his forehead and cheeks were hot to the touch. "When did you take your last dose?" Duo asked softly, glancing at the potpourri of medications on the table._

"_An hour ago," he whispered back. "I feel better than I did."_

"_Doesn't sound like much of an improvement," Duo murmured. "You oughta be in the hospital, Quatre."_

_Quatre shook his head. "There isn't much they could do for me there that I can't get here," he answered, with a small, rusty chuckle. "Besides, if I'm going to die, I want it to be here."_

"_Cheh. You're not going to die."_

_Quatre took a few hoarse breaths. "Sometimes I feel like I'm living on borrowed time anyway," he whispered._

"_Quatre…"_

"_No…forget I said that. It wasn't what I meant…" Quatre coughed slightly. "I just feel him closer to me here. Maybe that sounds a little morbid." A feeble smile appeared on his lips. "But it feels right."_

_Duo just nodded._

"_Duo?"_

"_Yeah?"_

_A long, raspy silence. "Do you think he'll be happy to see me?"_

_Duo's throat tightened. It took a long time for him to force words out. "Yeah, Quatre…I think he will."_

"_You don't think he'll be angry at me?" Quatre's voice was tiny._

_Duo had to swallow before he could speak. "No, Quatre. He won't."_

"_Are you sure?"_

_Duo closed his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."_

_There was no answer except slow, congested breathing, but Quatre relaxed._

"_He'll be waiting for you with his arms open," Duo whispered. "And a big smile on his face."_

_Quatre's parched lips turned up in another faint smile._

--

The food was better than Duo had expected. Apparently Thomas knew his eating preferences better than Duo thought, and managed to finagle some _normal_ food—or at least, the closest to normal that was possible in this ritzy venue.

Idly he wondered how much all this had set the Winners back. He munched away, carrying on a conversation with Thomas that skipped lightly from subject to subject. Living alone had one disadvantage for Duo—most of the time he had no one to talk to but himself, so most of the time, that's who he talked to.

All too soon, dinner was over. Duo straightened up in his seat, thankful that at least he hadn't stuffed himself. His stomach was doing uneasy little figure eights. _I may be a ham, but I guess this isn't the time nor the place for that, and hell if I know what I'm going to say. _

The current leader of the Sanq Kingdom—what was he called, anyway? Prime Minister? King? Grand Poo-Bah? All Thomas's coaching had gone out of his head—was taking his place behind the podium. He was a short, bony, balding fellow in a tux that was a little too ornate for Duo's taste, and Duo issued up another prayer of thanks that he'd ignored Melanie's fashion advice and chosen his own clothes for this affair.

Duo half-listened as the man began to speak. He had a more pleasant voice than Duo had expected, but the speech itself was all review to him, though a lot of it was a history lesson for most of the people in this room. _Fourscore and seven years ago, blah, blah…_ _get to the damn point, wouldja? _His back had started to twinge nastily, just a little, reminding him that he had payback coming from that earlier twist.

_The colonies, OZ, the Alliance, the creation of the Gundams, the training of the pilots…the beginning of the war…my God, it's as far away from these people as the Cold War was when the colonies were built. They have no idea. Peace is all that most of them remember. _

He glanced around the room, full of silks, pearls, and diamond-and-platinum cufflinks. And naiveté. Then he frowned. _That was the whole idea, wasn't it? The whole point of the war—the reason we all fought—was so that the people didn't have to. Not then, and not now. _

_So what, _his cynical inner self chimed in, _if someone comes along who wants war, and it all has to be done over again? Who's going to do the dirty work?_

"Duo!" Melanie hissed. She was shaking his arm. Duo blinked, and suddenly became aware that waves of expectant applause were rippling through the crowd, and up at the podium, the Grand Poo-Bah in the fancy suit was half-applauding, half-urgently-beckoning.

_Oh, shit—he _did _keep it short, after all! Unless I just fell asleep sitting up. _He pushed his chair back, managing to do so without making a racket (though he doubted anyone would've noticed it over the tumult of the applause) and pushed himself slowly to his feet.

His back growled a little tingly warning of pain and then subsided. Moving at a stately pace—_Stately my ass; this is an "I will not throw out my back—I will not throw out my back" pace_—he approached the podium. _Crap, now I wish I'd been paying attention. At least I'd have a clue as to what they expect me to say up here._ He stepped up the shallow three-inch step to the platform as the balding fellow stepped down the other side and retreated to a seat at one of the front tables, leaving Duo alone in the spotlight.

Duo stalled for a few moments by glancing over the crowd, his face a mask of calm, deliberately catching the eyes of a few random guests, as he groped for a starting point.

"Grampa Duo!" The tap-tap-tap of little patent shoes came scurrying up one of the aisles, and a gentle wave of chuckles followed as Little Relena ran up toward the podium. Duo relaxed, and grinned. He didn't even have to look at Melanie; he could _feel_ her mortified expression from where he stood. He turned as Little Relena scampered up behind the podium. Her eyes were a-sparkle, and she had a clumsily folded little pink origami rose in her hands, covered with uneven silver glitter. She held it up to him. "I made this for you…"

Duo smiled and took it out of her hands, spotting her nanny moving unobtrusively up a side aisle. Then the soft laughter in the audience caught Little Relena's attention, and she hid bashfully behind Duo, peeking out into the audience around his thighs.

Duo reached down and stroked her hair. "Thank you, honey," he said softly. A bit louder, into the microphone, he added—"Go with your nanny, now…Grampa Duo has to make a speech for these nice people, and you've already had _your_ nap today."

The laughter that swept through the room warmed Duo right through. _Couldn't have had a better opening if I'd planned it, _he thought with satisfaction, as Little Relena's nanny herded the child back down between the rows of tables. His gaze swept once again over the eyes that shone back at him. He was no longer a quasi-legendary figure of awe, or just a shriveled old veteran from a war that hardly anyone living could remember. He was human to them now. They would hear him, and they would know him.

--

_Duo raced down the sterile white hall at full tilt, ignoring the startled looks and exclamations of doctors and nurses and orderlies, his chestnut braid flying behind him like a banner and whipping him when he turned the corner. He slowed down to a fast walk—still pretty damn fast—and counted the room numbers. 320…322…324…_

_At 328, he skidded to a stop, took a few gasping breaths—enough to be able to speak—and braced himself. He opened the door._

_Quatre was lying in the bed, pale and still. His eyes were closed. Both of his arms were bandaged from the wrist halfway up to the elbow. Duo blanched, but he forced himself to cross the few feet between the doorway and the bed, and then sink down in the chair. He felt his lower lip beginning to quiver and bit it savagely. _No tears. Absolutely no tears. I don't deserve to cry over this…

_He gritted his teeth, and reached out and touched Quatre's face._

_Slowly, Quatre turned his head. He blinked, slowly. "Duo?"_

_Duo nodded. "It's me." He felt his eyes smarting. _Dammit. No. _"I'm so sorry, Quatre," he whispered. "I wasn't here. I should've been here. Oh, God…"_

_Quatre's eyes widened slightly, and flooded. "I couldn't stop him," he murmured. "I didn't get there in time, Duo … I couldn't…" His face crumpled. He began to cry._

_Duo bit into his lip harder, and tasted blood. _Good. Better blood than tears. My blood for Trowa's. For Quatre's._ He reached for Quatre's hand, the one that didn't have an IV in it, and slipped his fingers into Quatre's palm. "It wasn't your fault, Quatre…"_

"_Why?" Quatre sobbed. "I thought he was happy! He was getting better! I know he was! Why did he do it?"_

_Duo held Quatre's hand tightly as the young man wept, his chest hitching wildly. He bit down harder on his lip. More blood, more pain. _No, no pain. Not compared to his.

_Quatre thrashed on the bed, starting to kick, like a small child in a tantrum. Duo's eyes widened, and he stood up and leaned over Quatre, trying to hold him still. The IV in his arm was threatening to pull out. With his free hand Duo reached out and slapped the call button. _

"_I HATE HIM!" Quatre screamed, tears spilling over his cheeks. His hand clamped down with bruising force on Duo's. "I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!" _

_The door swung open, and a couple of nurses and an orderly hurried in. Duo, speechless in panic, could only stare, wide-eyed. The orderly held Quatre—still screaming, kicking and thrashing—down on the bed while one of the nurses prepared an injection. The other nurse pried Quatre's fingers from Duo's hand, and Duo stumbled back and fell on his knees._

_Quatre's hand reached out, bereft, and then curled into a talon, clawing at the orderly's arm until the man moved enough to restrain that arm too. His screams dissolved into wracking sobs. The nurse straightened after administering the sedative and gently adjusted Quatre's hospital gown, then pulled the blanket back up to his waist. The orderly let go. Quatre went on crying steadily. _

_The orderly turned to Duo. "Are you all right?" _

_Duo nodded automatically. Yeah, sure. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. The man only nodded and followed one of the nurses out. The other nurse was re-inserting the IV. When she finished, she laid a cool hand gently on Duo's cheek for a moment, and then left the room._

_Quatre's sobs dwindled into soft whimpers. Duo crept back to the bedside, ignoring the chair and the hard chill of the tile floor under his knees, and reclaimed Quatre's hand. It was limp now, and cold. "I'm sorry, Quatre," he whispered. _No tears. _"Oh, sweet Jesus, I'm sorry." _

No tears. No tears. God in Heaven, how much do You hate him? What can he possibly have done to deserve to see that? And oh, God, Trowa…what could we have done to help you? What tore you into so many pieces inside that even Quatre's love, and mine, couldn't reach you?

_Yes, there were tears. Streaking his face. Blinding him. Dripping onto his hands and onto Quatre's bandaged wrist. Better tears than blood, after all. Because Quatre's blood hadn't brought Trowa back._

And neither will mine.

_Duo clung to Quatre's hand and cried._

--

The silence was awesome. Even the hiss of the air conditioning had hushed, and there was not an eye in the room that was not on him.

Had he reached them, or had he merely managed to shock them? He wasn't sure. He saw manicured hands covering mouths, tears striping expensive mascara and eyeliner down rouged cheeks, and he indulged himself in a moment of bitter satisfaction.

_Yeah, cry. If you can't get any closer to reality than that, then cry. Not for me, but for what you lost before you ever knew it existed. _He glanced at the clock, and was briefly taken aback to see that he had been talking for an hour and a half—which was about an hour and twenty-nine minutes longer than he'd intended. It was time to wrap things up.

"You all came here tonight to have a bite to eat, listen to a couple of speeches, watch this gentleman hand me a plaque or something." He gestured at the official sitting at a nearby table. "I can't say I don't appreciate it—even if it's seventy-five years overdue. What I can say is to remind you that the fancy food and the plaque are not the point." Without even having to look, Duo lifted both arms to gesture at the four softly lit photographs.

"Them. They are the point. What I spent the last ninety minutes telling you about their lives is the point. Not so we can 'put a terrible era behind us'"—and the official turned red at Duo's parroting of his phrasing—"but so that you know how we lived, so that no one ever has to live that way again."

He took a deep breath. "Thank you. Goodnight."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then the applause rolled over the room and built into a tidal wave. Duo, who had been leaning on the podium, began to straighten up—and froze midmotion.

_Yeah, figures,_ he thought dimly, as his spine turned into a live electrical wire. _Well, I stand up here like a damn mannequin, what do I expect? _He hung on, white-knuckled, to the podium.

A few eternal seconds later, Duo felt an arm come gingerly around his waist in support. "Stood in the spotlight too long?" William chuckled ruefully. Thomas appeared on Duo's other side to offer assistance. A knot of people at the front tables started clamoring about calling an ambulance, but with a heroic effort, Duo leaned forward a bit to speak into the microphone again. _Ow ow ow ow ow owwww shit!! _

"Don't worry about me, ladies and gentlemen. There's nothing wrong with me that rolling back the clock about seventy years wouldn't cure." His voice magnified over the sound system was strained, but clear. _Bravo, Olivier. Take a bow. Well, on second thought, don't…_

The ripple of chuckles sustained him a bit as William and Thomas helped him down the shallow step to the floor. Melanie was waving them toward the wall, where a couple of strongarms—probably employees of the hotel kept around for just this purpose; they probably had an old fart throw out his back at least twice a week—had hauled in a couch from the lobby. The two younger men walked him over to the sofa. Lying down was an ordeal, but once it was over, he could relax.

Now it was Melanie hovering over him with visions of ambulances and hospital admittance dancing in her head, judging by the way she was clutching William's cell phone. Shaking his head seemed like a bad idea, so instead he lifted his hand and slashed one finger across his throat in old-time movie director style.

"Melanie, you broke the bathroom door down because an old man dozed off on the toilet, and now you're going to raise the roof over a stiff back? Relax, honey." It cost him pain even to speak, but Duo could smile under torture—literally—and he did so now. It was worth the blush it got out of Melanie and the astounded expression on William's face. So she _hadn't_ told him how the door got broken. Duo grinned wider.

He managed to coax Melanie out of calling an ambulance and into getting him a glass of water to swallow one of his pills. A _big_ glass. He could get down a mouthful of fried chicken that would choke a grizzly bear, but it rarely took him fewer than three tries to get one of those hard horse pills down his throat without gagging. _Why don't they just make the damn things half as big and make it two to a dose?_

The couch had been placed not far from the row of photographs on the wall, so the guests were milling quietly around, greeting and speaking to him and looking at the pictures. Mercifully, Melanie only allowed that for about fifteen minutes before she began shooing people away. People got the hint and started to trickle out into the lobby, until the hall was empty except for himself, Melanie, Thomas, and William.

Duo relaxed in the ensuing quiet, the conversation reduced to a much more soothing buzz out in the hall, and closed his eyes.

--

"Oh…are we home already?"

"You slept most of the way." Melanie's voice was unusually mild. She got out of the passenger seat and came around to open the back door and untangle Little Relena from that iron lung of a car seat. Duo noticed that Little Relena had gotten silver glitter all down the front of her dress. He blessed the distraction of his treacherous back—otherwise, Melanie would probably have had a fit. Unless he'd missed it while he was sleeping. He doubted it—Melanie tended to get pretty shrill, and the shrillest of all when Little Relena was involved.

"You were SNORING!" Little Relena declared, once she had her little patent-clad feet firmly on the garage floor. She was disturbingly lively for a four-year-old at ten o'clock at night.

Duo laughed. "Oh, I couldn't have been snoring THAT loud."

"Yes, you were!" she giggled. "It hurt my ears!"

"That's nothing!" Duo grunted as William helped him slowly up and out of the car. He was definitely feeling better, though. His back had obediently quieted down. A dose of codeine did that for him. Buzzzzzz. "If I'd REALLY been snoring loud, all the car windows would break! The doors would blow right off! The engine would break into pieces! There'd be nothing left but the seats and the steering wheel!"

Little Relena laughed louder with each declaration as they made their way into the house, her voice escalating to a happy screech. "All right, all right, quiet down," William ordered, reaching to turn on the light. "Duo, I think you'd better take the downstairs guest room tonight, hadn't you? Margret can bring your things down."

"Well, if you insist." His back would probably be insisting by the time he got up in the morning.

"Kiss your Grampa Duo goodnight, Relena," Melanie said, as the nanny waited.

Little Relena ran over to Duo, and pecked his cheek. He pressed a loud smacking kiss to her forehead. "Mmmmmmmmm-wah!"

"Night night!" She ran off upstairs, and her nanny followed.

Shortly thereafter, Duo was settled in the less-used downstairs room, sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard. In his hands was an aged photograph album, which he paged through slowly. The originals of the four pictures he'd had hanging in the hotel were in this album, but he flipped past that section, to the middle of the album.

There was Quatre, standing on the roof of Duo's house the summer they'd built it, smiling but looking a bit nervous, pushing his hair away as it blew into his face. Quatre again, drenched, sitting in his swim trunks under the lawn sprinkler where Duo had shoved him moments before taking the photograph. Trowa and Quatre unpacking boxes inside. Wufei hanging a picture. There weren't many pictures of Wufei. Duo wished he'd taken more—they had hardly finished moving in, really, when Wufei said goodbye and took off, and they'd simply never seen him again.

Another page. Heero, caught stepping out of the shower in nothing but a towel, favoring the photographer (Duo) with an extra-smoldering Glare O' Death. The photo was a little blurry, Duo remembered with a grin, because by the time the shutter clicked he'd already begun to bolt for safety. Trowa and Quatre doing the dishes—Trowa washing, Quatre drying. Duo himself, lying sprawled in a heap of stripped bedding, grinning maniacally.

Trowa breaking his mask of solemnity for a rare, silly moment and juggling a trio of bowls. His face was calm with concentration, but one corner of his mouth was quirked up. Quatre or Heero—probably Quatre—had taken this picture, because Duo saw himself in the background, covering his head melodramatically as if expecting to be bashed by flying crockery at any moment. _He didn't even chip an edge. Circus or no circus, I couldn't believe it. _

Another page, and Duo's smile began to fade. He had taken this picture on a dare—from Quatre, as a matter of fact—risking life and limb. It was a close-up photo of Heero and Wufei lying out under that cherry tree in the back, about a foot apart, both apparently asleep. Heero was on his back, his arms folded beneath his head; Wufei lay on his side to Heero's left, facing away, his head pillowed on his arm.

There were barely more pictures of Heero than there were of Wufei. Heero had never been fond of having his picture taken. You had to surprise him, which was a feat in itself—and then you had to run fast enough to get the camera in a safe place before he caught you.

Duo drew in a deep breath before he turned the page again.

There was only one photograph on these two pages, and it was one Duo could guarantee he would not forget. He had taken it himself. Heero had come in shortly before dawn after an extra shift at the spaceport, where he and Duo had both been working security then. Too tired to bother with making his way to his room, he'd simply crashed on the living room sofa. He was still in his uniform, wrinkled from being slept in; his hair was tangled; and although he wasn't smiling, exactly, his face was peaceful.

It had been rare enough to _see_ Heero like that. The photograph was beyond priceless.

It had saved Duo from having a very different image of Heero seared indelibly into his mind for the rest of his life.

--

_Whack._

_The axe bit down through the hunk of wood. The halves fell to either side. Duo stared at the chopping block, and then shifted the axe to his left hand, stepping forward to gather up the wood and add it to the pile. It was up to Duo's waist now. He turned for more, and saw that the large, thick bough he'd been cutting was all gone. Nearby, though, there was another one, cut down earlier in the summer when it died and broke halfway off in a windstorm. _

_Duo crossed to it, stepping over the mess of chips, twigs, and small trailing branches littering the grass, barely feeling the ones that jabbed into his bare feet. He started chopping off its branches. Sweat was rolling off his skin, and his scalp and his bare shoulders and back were hot and tight as the sun beat down on him._

_Didn't matter. He was comfortable anyway. Felt nothing. Heard nothing but the hot breeze. Saw nothing but the wood chips flying. Smelled nothing but recently cut grass and an occasional whiff of baking asphalt from the drive out front. God's in his heaven, all's right with the world, I am one with the universe. What did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor? "Make me one with everything." Or maybe it was a Taoist. Whatever. As long as there was wood to chop. _

_It got to be a flawless rhythm, after a while. Just like ping-pong. Soothing, sort of. The ball bounces over the net. One bounce. Block it. You miss, you lose the rhythm, the ball gets past you, you lose the game. _

_Whack. A branch tumbling off onto the grass. There, easy as can be. The axe was his paddle. Like galley slaves rowing. Whack. Somebody doesn't keep time, it slows the whole works down—has to be all in unison. Keep it steady, boys. Whack. Another branch. Quiet, nice and quiet. Whack. A whole bunch of little branches. Duo Maxwell, World Champion, mental Ping-Pong. Whack._

_Sound of a car pulling up out front. Ignore it. Keep moving. Whack._

_Quatre and Trowa came around the house into the back yard. He found he could watch them out of the corner of his eye without losing rhythm. Not a problem. Whack._

"_Duo?" Quatre's voice was choked. Wonder what's wrong with him. Whack. Can't look at him, though. Wouldn't be able to keep the rhythm up. Duo grunted._

_Quatre walked around in front of Duo, although Trowa made a move to prevent him. He kept a distance of ten feet or so, but now Duo could look at him directly without losing rhythm. Quatre's eyes were red. So was his nose—most of the time, Quatre couldn't cry for a minute without going all blotchy. Whack._

"_You said you'd wait for us at the hospital."_

_WHACK!_

_Quatre jumped back as chips flew. Oops. No more branches. Time to start chopping it apart. Duo took only long enough to shift the axe to both hands and put his foot up on the log to hold it steady. _

"_Duo?" Quatre sounded downright scared. That was funny. Quatre scared of Duo? Oh. The axe in his hands, of course. It really ought to be a scythe, not an axe. Death carried a scythe._

_Death._

_Whack. Duo was breathing harder. The log was tough in the middle. He was going to have to chop harder. _

_Death._

No! _Chop harder. Faster. Catch up. _

"_Duo, look at me."_

Can't look at you, Quatre. I'll miss. _Whack. But he was already a point behind, and the ball was coming faster now. _

_Death. Hospital. Two points behind._

_Whack. Whack. Whack._

"_Duo!" Quatre strode forward, against a warning cry from Trowa. He grabbed the haft of the axe in Duo's hands._

No! NO!

_Death. Hospital. Quatre crying._

_Duo fought, tried to throw Quatre down, but Quatre clung on to the axe handle with the grip of a pit bull. Suddenly, Trowa's arms slipped under Duo's, and his arms were being tugged ruthlessly behind his back. His sweaty hands betrayed him; the axe slipped. Quatre staggered backward a few feet—the axe was heavy—and then heaved it out of reach. _

_Duo's eyes were shut tight. Like peek-a-boo. I can't see you, you can't see me. Trowa held him with his arms pinned behind him. His voice was gentle, but edged with tears. "Duo. You should have waited for us…you shouldn't have done that alone."_

_Morgue._

_It was too late now. Game over. Even too late for peek-a-boo. It was behind his eyes now._

_Death. Hospital. Quatre crying. _

_Hospital._

_Morgue._

_Cold._

_Heero._

_Duo slumped in Trowa's arms. Trowa knelt with him. Quatre crouched beside him. His arms went around Duo's shoulders, and Duo sagged against him, shaking. Trowa freed Duo's arms, and his hands rested on Duo's shoulders._

_Cold. Duo shivered. A scorching summer day, and he shook as if it were below zero. Quatre held on to him tightly, and Trowa's hands still gripped his shoulders._

_Courageous, they'd said. In the line of duty. Little piecemeal phrases like that. They were all that had penetrated. Accepted risk. Disaster averted. Quick. No suffering._

_No suffering?_

_What the hell did they call _this?

_He wanted to cry. And he couldn't. It was all frozen in his chest. Clumped together, like a blocked artery about to cause a heart attack. He wanted to explode. And he could only sit there, his face buried in Quatre's shirt, and shake. And shake. And shake._

--

Duo wiped at his eyes. _Well, I didn't wait, Trowa. Had to charge in there like I could handle it. What an ass._

"_You are prone to that sometimes." Dry, colored with a faint smirk that was detectable only in the voice. But still, affectionate._

No, he didn't hear voices. It was just that he knew what they _would_ say. _Heh. Shinigami flipping out over a dead body. Some God of Death I made, ne?_

"_This was different. It was Heero. And it was unexpected. The war was over." Reasonable, gentle, classic Quatre. "And we had so little time."_

_Yeah. Not to mention I'd never have expected him to die like that—_

"_Why not?" Sharper than normal for Wufei. "Is it so hard to believe that he would die to save someone?"_

_I guess not. That's what we were trained for. When you come right down to it. He didn't die for nothing. Dying for nothing, _that's _what I would never have expected of Heero._

"_Glad you've got _that_ all sorted out."_

Duo smiled at the fourth voice. _What held you up for seventy years?_

"_Baka. I was here all along. Go to sleep."_

Duo closed the photo album and put it aside, and turned out the light. A few minutes' worth of twisting and turning later, he was stretched out, and he sighed ruefully. _I miss you like hell, you know. Twenty years is a long time to wait._

He could hear Quatre's smile, teasing him. _"Then another day isn't going to make that much of a difference, is it?"_

Duo chuckled. _Guess not._

He went to sleep.

--

The End

--


End file.
